


Nancy Drew and the Case of the Missing Mysteries

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Nancy Drew - Carolyn Keene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-12-21
Updated: 2005-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-25 05:15:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1633433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A midwinter holiday provides Nancy and her friends a chance to solve a mystery -- and to see if wishes can come true.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nancy Drew and the Case of the Missing Mysteries

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Sandy

 

 

 **Disclaimer:** Neither the characters nor the setting belong to me, and no profit is being made or sought from this fanfiction. Written with deep admiration for, and loving apologies to, Mildred Benson and all the other "Carolyn Keenes."

"This is going to be so exciting!" Bess Marvin enthused as they stood in front of the reception desk in the tiny lobby.

Ned Nickerson, carrying the girls' bags in from the car to set them beside his own, agreed. "I've never been to a Winter Solstice celebration before."

"And what place could be better than the Winterbourne Inn?" Nancy chimed in. The pretty eighteen year old smiled affectionately at both her friends. "Thank you so much for agreeing to this! I've wanted to stay here ever since I learned that it used to be Mabel Stanford's home. I'm just sorry George couldn't join us, but I know her family had that ski trip booked for ages, so I guess she didn't want to back out." She was referring to George Fayne, Bess' athletic cousin, who frequently accompanied Nancy on her adventures.

"But at least Bess came along," said Ned warmly, and Bess blushed when he smiled at her. To hide her confusion, she turned away and greeted their hostess enthusiastically. Cadence Stanford, an elegant brunette in her mid-twenties, had just stepped into the lobby, looking flustered.

"Bess Marvin!" she exclaimed, her harried look dropping away as she smiled at them. Bess introduced her friends, explaining to Ned and Nancy that she'd taken an evening scrap-booking class from Cadence earlier that year.

"I was delighted when I saw your name among the reservations," Cadence told Bess, and then her shoulders drooped slightly. "But these days, we're delighted with _any_ reservations." Remembering her guests, she forced herself to be cheerful, but Nancy had seen that she was worried about something. Was there some mystery here that needed to be solved?

Upstairs, Nancy and Bess quickly settled into the room they'd be sharing for the weekend, unpacking a few things and carefully hanging up the dresses they'd need for tomorrow night's Solstice ball. The room was furnished with heavy antique furniture, which had obviously been lovingly cared for over the years. Pink and white curtains and bedclothes, sparkling with hints of silver, provided a cheering contrast to the dark wood. Nancy gazed around the room admiringly.

"The Stanford sisters must love this place so much," said Bess, echoing Nancy's thoughts. "I can't bear to think of them losing it!"

"Are they in danger of losing the Inn?" Nancy asked, horrified. So that was what was worrying Cadence! Bess nodded sadly.

"This house is so beautiful that I'm sure the Inn will be self-supporting soon," she said, "but they've only been open for a few months, so they're still building their reputation. And Cadence told me that the renovations needed to turn it into a bed-and-breakfast cost more than they expected. If they can't pay off the loan, they're in danger of losing this place, and the house has been in the family for years - it would break their hearts to have to leave!"

"But Mabel Stanford was such a famous writer," argued Nancy. "I was such a fan of her series when I was young!" In truth, she admitted to herself, she was still a major fan, even though Mabel Stanford's mystery novels were aimed at a younger audience. "Surely the creator of such a well-loved fictional detective must have left her family comfortably well-off. Those books are read and loved all over the world!"

"That's true," came a gentle voice from the door. Bess and Nancy gasped and whirled around to discover that they'd left the door of their room ajar, and Cadence was standing there. Nancy blushed, dismayed to think that they'd been caught gossiping, a habit she despised. Cadence, however, didn't seem angry. "Sadly, though," Cadence went on, "back in the era when Great-Aunt Mabel was writing, writers didn't have nearly the legal protection, or the financial savvy, that they do today. Most of the profit from her series went to the corporation that published the books, because they, rather than the author, held the copyright to her work." She sighed heavily, and sat down on the edge of Bess' bed.

Nancy gave the girl a quick, sympathetic hug. "That seems so unfair," she said.

Cadence gave her a trembling smile. "Great-Aunt Mabel always joked that she'd outfox them in the end, and publish some original books that they couldn't lay claim to," she said, her eyes brightening at the memory. "She was a wonderful woman, full of wit and energy. She could pilot her own plane, you know - back in her day flying was new and exciting - and even when she was elderly she liked nothing better than to dance the night away. When I was a little girl, she used to tell me that if trouble fell on the Stanfords, I should just open up the ballroom and tear up the dance floor! She thought you should never let problems get to you. She loved every minute of her life, but in the end I guess she just ran out of time, and those original mysteries never got written."

After she had left, Bess said wistfully, "I wish there were some way we could help."

"Maybe we can," Nancy said, looking thoughtful.

That evening they gathered in the ballroom to decorate the Yule Wish Tree. The tree, a live evergreen in a huge pot, sat at the center of the ballroom. "In the spring," explained Cadence, "we'll plant the tree outside, so we'll have a permanent wish tree near out front gate. Right now, I'd like each of our guests to make a wish. Choose carefully: you only get one wish, so make sure it's something you really want. When you're ready, pick out a ribbon from the basket, and tie it on the tree to represent your wish."

"When do our wishes come true?" a cute young guy at the back of the crowd asked. Everyone laughed appreciatively, and Cadence smiled.

"Once the tree has been moved outside," Cadence's sister Melody answered, "we'll encourage our guests to add their own wishes whenever they visit the Inn. Each time a guest adds a ribbon, they'll untie a ribbon and take it away as a keepsake - and that will release whatever wish was tied up in the ribbon, so the universe can hear it and find a way to grant it."

Nancy was charmed by this bit of whimsy. "So someday, a stranger will release my wish," she mused. When it was her turn to rummage through the basket and choose a piece of ribbon, she searched carefully, trying to find one to inspire a wish. She and Bess oohed and ahhed over the beautiful colors and fabrics. Finally Nancy settled on a blue silk ribbon, the exact shade of her car. "I wish I could solve Cadence's problem," she whispered impulsively as she tied a careful bow on one of the lower branches. Glancing up, she noticed Bess was blushing as she tied a pink satin ribbon with a pattern of tiny red hearts. Bess, looking embarrassed, refused to tell what her wish had been, so Nancy wisely refrained from pressing her.

Ned tied his ribbon to a branch near the top of the tree, and then remarked ruefully that this would probably mean his wish wouldn't be granted for years. "Not until somebody tall stays here," he joked.

"Look," said Bess. "There's a compass rose or something on the floor." She pointed under the tree, at the shining hardwood surface of the dance floor, and as she did so a button on the cuff of her blouse caught on Nancy's blue ribbon and untied it. The ribbon dropped gracefully to the floor at their feet. "Oh, Nancy, I'm so sorry!" cried Bess, looking absurdly guilty, but Nancy shook her head and laughed.

"It just means my wish will come true even faster!" Nancy assured her, and, not wanting to make Bess uncomfortable by dwelling on the accident, turned her attention back to the ballroom floor. "You're right," she said. "It's some sort of eight-pointed star." The pattern was composed of various types and shades of wood, inlaid into the floor.

"It represents the Wheel of the Year, with its eight major holidays," said Melody, who'd overheard this last remark. "Or at least," she added, grinning, "that's what I've always said. An artist friend of out Great-Aunt's designed it, back when she had this house built. We probably should have it stripped and re-varnished - it hasn't been done since Great-Aunt Mabel lived here, and the old varnish is wearing away. But we just haven't been able to get to it."

"It's lovely," said Nancy, admiring the tints and shades of the woods used to make the star. She realized that the Stanford family's financial difficulties had probably made it impossible to have the floor restored, but she tactfully refrained from mentioning this.

The next night Nancy and Bess dressed carefully and hurried to the ballroom. The Yule Wish Tree was still at the center of the room, and now it had been hung with strings of white lights. Matching lights adorned the walls, and kissing boughs had been hung from the ceiling. Ned appeared instantly at Nancy's side, and Bess watched wistfully as they moved skillfully across the dance floor. When Ned asked Bess for the second dance she hesitated, but Nancy urged her chum to dance.

As she watched Bess smiling shyly up at Ned, who spun her among the dancing couples, Nancy reflected that Ned was the perfect escort - almost like an accessory, Nancy thought with amusement, or like her sports car: attractive and reliable. Ned and Bess, she saw, were dancing up a storm. It reminded her of Mabel Stanford's advice to her nieces to dance away their troubles and "tear up the dance floor." Nancy smiled at the thought, and then gasped.

She rushed over to where Cadence and Melody were standing. "Cadence," asked Nancy, interrupting their conversation in her eagerness to share her theory, "has the dance floor ever been taken up and repaired, or replaced?"

Cadence frowned, puzzled. "Not since Melody and I were small children," she said, "and Great-Aunt Mabel still lived here. Why?"

"Because," said Nancy, her eyes shining, "I think she hid her manuscripts under the floor. Her advice that you face your troubles by tearing up the dance floor wasn't a metaphor: it was a clue!"

Cadence turned excitedly to her sister. "Should we risk it?" she asked. "Can we afford to take up a piece of the floor, and see if Nancy's right?"

Melody nodded, looking determined. "We've come this far in making this place a success," she pointed out. "If we could actually find an original manuscript, it would put an end to all our money worries."

"I think you should start with the star," Nancy suggested. "It's the most noticeable feature of the dance floor. Maybe it was meant to mark the spot where the manuscript was hidden."

She was only partly right. The next morning after breakfast, when the workmen carefully pried up some of the oak and rosewood pieces of the inlaid star, they found not one, but three completed manuscripts. "Thanks to you, we don't have to worry about losing the Inn!" Cadence said, flinging her arms around Nancy. "And there'll be new Mabel Stanford mysteries to enjoy!"

"I hope you'll come back and stay with us often," Melody added, and the girl detective assured them she would.

Nancy was glowing as they loaded up her car, brim-full of the happy satisfaction that came with solving a mystery. "Now we can get home to our own Christmas celebrations," she said contentedly.

"We've earned it!" Ned said. "I'm so glad we spent the weekend here." And a beaming Bess agreed with him whole-heartedly.

 

 

 


End file.
